Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster
by Effin4
Summary: After some time and a lot of denial, John realizes that his feelings towards his flat mate ain't just friendly anymore. Can he convince Sherlock to be more than friends or is it just a hopeless case?
1. Fighting is a cure for boredom

_Okay, here it goes. My first Sherlock-fic, after reading so many others. Please tell me if I go __out of character. I will try to make this like I imagine Sherlock's mind works on this sort of stuff, the relationship between John and Sherlock. Johnlock. Any spellingmistakes I apologize for in advance, English is not my native language, unfortunately._

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><p>"I'm bored. I'm so BLOODY bored." Sherlock lay on the sofa, sulking with his face facing the wall. John, who'd just come in the door, walked fast over to the desk and took Sherlock´s gun. If he started shooting on the wall again, Mrs. Hudson would have a heart attack.<p>

"There's no need to hide my gun, John. If I wanted to shoot the wall I would've done it already, and you are just going to hide it under your bed again," Sherlock said.

"How could you,- never mind." John gave up even before the sentence was fully completed. He was tired after working at the surgery, and he didn't want to hear Sherlock sulk.

John opened his mouth to ask him if there were any cases, but closed it just the same. He could already hear Sherlock voice saying: Obvious. You think I'd lie here if there were any? As if Sherlock had known what John thought, he rolled his eyes to him.

"Make me some tea." John frowned, he was so tired, and he'd had a really bad day. He turned and said "what?" with a good enough doze with anger so Sherlock should hear he'd said something wrong. But Sherlock was bored and didn't care.

"I said make me some tea. Not only do you never observe, but you never listen either." Sherlock sat up in the sofa just in time to not get hit by the book John had thrown at him.

"Oh, that was mature."

"THAT was mature? THAT WAS MATURE? HOW MATURE DO YOU THINK IT IS TO LIE ON THE SOFA SULKING LIKE A LITTLE CHILD BECAUSE YOU ARE BORED? AND THEN YOU CAN'T EVEN LIFT YOUR ASS UP TO MAKE YOUR OWN TEA?" John yelled. He was so sick of Sherlock´s sulking, which had been going on for days. Now he'd snapped. Sherlock looked confused, and like he just realized he'd said something wrong.

"You're upset. Not good?" John looked at his flat mate in totally disbelief, turned on his heel and stormed out of the apartment. Sherlock was left for a few seconds with a kind of puzzled face, before he went back to sulking.

John didn't stop for a second, before he found himself behind a huge container, and he remembered he'd used to go there when he was young. He was confused, angry, and not thinking clearly. This place was miles away from Baker Street. He must have gone for over an hour, without noticing. He really didn't know why he was acting so strange. He was moody, confused and his feelings towards Sherlock went up and down like a roller coaster. This shouldn't upset him so much, he knows how Sherlock is. He doesn't think like normal people, and have no clue what's right and what's wrong and what you're not supposed to say. Nor could he care less about people's feelings, but John always hoped he was an exception. John shook his head, just as his phone vibrated.

**Out of milk. Get some on your way home. – SH**

John threw his phone into the Thames. Then he sat down on a rock, trying to deduce his own feelings, and came to a rather unpleasant conclusion.

"There you are," Sherlock said, without raising his head from the computer. John's computer, that is.

"Did you get milk?"

"Have you taken my PC again? Can't you use your own? Yours are even newer than mine!"

"Mine was in the bathroom. Milk. Did you get milk?"

"The bathroom? What the hell is your PC doing in the _bathroom_?"

"Experiment."

"You are just-" John swallowed his own words, and turned.

"Did you get milk?"

"No." John answered without looking at him.

"But I texted you."

"My phone doesn't work any longer, it's wet."

"Ah, you threw it in the Thames." Sherlock said. "Feelings, John. Try to not let yourself get carried away with them. Look what they make you do. Not very well thought through, is it? I'll buy you a new one."

"How could you possibly know that? Did you follow me?" John hissed. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so boring. You didn't answer, so you were obviously still upset about the tea-argument. Then you said your phone was wet, and it's obvious you have thrown something with your arm, since you are carrying it like you have stretched something. It's not that huge a hurt, though, so it has to be a small thing, but you still threw it with all your strength, hence the way your shoulder is placed."

John was stunned, once again. He never stopped being amused by how easy Sherlock read everything, and how granted he took it. It could be extremely irritating and frustrating, but John had to admit he really liked it. He learned so much, and it was always funny to see the look on Andersons or Donovan´s face when Sherlock made hints of what they'd been doing. Donovan could say what she wanted; Sherlock would never be a freak to him. Stop, he was entering a thinking minefield. Sherlock had deduced about _the Woman_, so he could easily do it with him to.

"Stop steering at me, and give me that tea," Sherlock said, not looking up from the computer. John collected the many mine blown pieces of himself, snapped his computer from Sherlock and said:

"Make that tea yourself. See you in the morning."

"It's eight o´clock." It wasn't a question or a sarcastic comment; he was just stating a fact like he usually did.

"Yes, but I'm tired." John said, in a hurry to leave the room. He didn't want Sherlock to deduce him any more times this night. Before Sherlock had the time to say something, and by golly, he had something to say, John had disappeared off to his room. Sherlock gave him some minutes before he realized he was way to interested in what the hell was going on with John, to do anything else somewhat useful, and jumped up the stairs to Johns bedroom.

When Sherlock opened the door without any warning, he found a pretty naked John standing in the middle of his room, looking for something in one of the drawers. When he heard the door open, he turned around half in shock, and started blushing within seconds. Sherlock stood there, awkward and didn't know what to say. One of the words John almost never heard Sherlock say escaped Sherlock´s mouth.

"Sorry," he said, hastily, and went out of the room. When John had put on his clothes, or his pajamas that is, he went down to the living room to ask why Sherlock had come up to his room. The living room was empty, so he silently checked Sherlock´s bedroom. In the dark he could se a contour of a slender, high, dark figure, who breathe regularly and is clearly asleep. He smiled to himself at the sight of his best friend and flat mate, before he silently closed the door and headed back to his own room.

Sherlock wasn't asleep, of course. He barely slept, and never at ten p.m. He could hear John smile, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. He considered going back to John´s room again, but decided against it. Sherlock didn't want to wake him up. He lay still for some time, thinking about how boring it was to just lie in a bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't very soundproof between John´s bedroom upstairs and Sherlock´s, so they could easily hear if they spoke with a little higher voice than usual.

As Sherlock lay there, he suddenly heard his own name, coming from John´s room. It sounded somewhat like a moan, or a cry, a grunt. A claw took a very unpleasant hold around what Sherlock figured must be his heart, and squeezed it. Maybe John needed help. He ran upstairs, as silent as he could, which was almost totally quiet, grabbing his gun on the way. When he came up to John´s room, he pushed the door open carefully, and looked around. Nobody was there, and John was sleeping in his bed. Sherlock breathed relieved out. Nothing was wrong. John must have dreamt. He closed John´s door and sat down in the living room, trying not to think about John´s heavy breath. This one time he got really angry for being so good at deducing everything. He cursed out to himself, and opened his laptop. Blank. He didn't know what to write or do, so he just let it stand open. If John never brought it up, they might never need to have that conversation.

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><p><em>Yeah, guys, that's the first chapter. I realize this might look like some of the other stories around here, but I promise, it's not. Just wait and see :)<br>I imagine this fanfic is going to go on for a while, so the story may continue a little slowly. If that's no good, tell me, please. Reviews make my day! (Hint hint) _


	2. Feelings

_I'm in a bit of a __writing mode right now I feel, that's why this chapter is up so soon. Unfortunately, it probably won't last very long, and I apologize in advance when the time comes and I'll be horribly slow with updating. Hope you enjoy the second chapter!_

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><p>When John woke up the next morning, he was in an unusually good mood. He felt he'd had a good dream, but couldn't quite remember how it was. He got dressed and went down to the living room, waiting to find Sherlock sitting in the sofa with one of the computers, and probably John´s. When he didn't, he felt disappointed. He took a quick look around, hoping to eye a note or something. On the table, next to the long rift, there was a piece of paper that looked like a note. John went to the table, shook his head in despair over the ugly rift, and lifted the note. <strong>Phone.<strong> The note said phone. John read once more, just to see if he'd missed something, but that was all. Sherlock had written a note where it simply said phone.

He dropped the note, angrily. That's when he finally eyed the little black thing, which had been under the note. A phone. It was an expensive phone, John saw, and he took some time to wonder where the hell Sherlock got his money. Donovan told him the first night that he wasn't being paid for all the work he did as a consulting detective. John wasn't sure if he could accept such a gift, but figured it'd kind of been Sherlock´s fault that the other one now laid on the bottom of the Thames.

John turned the phone on, waiting to see a text from Sherlock, but was once again disappointed. He wondered if he should go and check his bedroom, but quickly figured he wouldn't be there anyway. Sherlock barely slept, and it was already 12 p.m.

"Hi, John!" John jumped half a meter, only to realize it was Mrs. Hudson who came in with the usual breakfast.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm sorry, I was just got off guard," John said, a bit embarrassed that he'd got jumpy over so little.

"Where is Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, putting the tray on the table. She too shook her head over the rift.

"You don't know? He's just disappeared. Hang on, I'll text Lestrade to see if there've been any cases." Mrs. Hudson put on the tea while John used his new phone to send a text to Lestrade.

**Hi. It's John. You got any cases? – JW**  
>The answer came quick.<p>

**No, sorry. Isn't that usually Sherlock´s question? –GL **

**He hasn't asked today? – JW**

**Not all week. Is something wrong with him? And by wrong I mean more than usually, of course. – GL**

**Hope not. – JW**

"What is it?" Mrs. Hudson eyed John´s curved eyebrow. He looked worried.

"Lestrade haven't heard from Sherlock all week," John said slowly. Something was definitely wrong here. He usually texted Lestrade two to six times during a day, and just yesterday he'd sulked over how extremely bored he was.

"Don't worry, dear, it's Sherlock. He does that."

"Yeah, but he usually leaves a note," John said, knowing that it wasn't entirely true. It wasn't before after a month of living together or so, John had persuaded Sherlock to leave notes when he left to do something. John´s explanation had been that he wanted to know if he had the whole apartment to himself for a week. He'd gotten his wish through when Sherlock had disappeared and come back nine days later. He'd been on a case in Iraq, or something, John never got the all of that story. The problem was just that after they agreed, Sherlock always left notes. He hadn't left the place without leaving a note since that fight. Sometimes, just to show John how stupid it was, he left a note when he went to the bathroom.

"He'll come back, just wait and see." Mrs. Hudson patted his back, before going down to her own apartment. John sat down, thinking. Could Sherlock already have seen it? Had he deduced it after so short time? But then again, he might have known it before John realized it. Was that's why he'd left? He frowned on the thought of that. He didn't know what to do without Sherlock. Okay, he was being stupid. John took out his phone and texted Sherlock.

**Where are you? – JW**

He sat, staring at his phone for a moment that felt like ages. No answer. He tried not to get too worried, but it was hard, because Sherlock always answered quickly.

Sherlock heard his phone beep. John had texted him. Wondering where he was, of course. He hadn't left a note. He needed to pull away from John for a while. He didn't like being around him when it was so clearly. Sherlock stood at the bridge, looking at the Thames floating under him. His face showed no emotions, but inside he had a bit of a chaos. He hated it. He hated every single thing that made him so unsure, made him have feelings. He truly hated how unfocused they made him, how vulnerable and stupid they made him.

Sherlock couldn't understand how people lived coping feelings all the time. He'd easily shoved them away when he was little, when he'd seen what an ugly inflict they could have on people's life. Feelings made people do things that were stupid, and not thought through at all. Made them do things they didn't want to, and let them get the best of them. Feelings made people choose unwisely, short told, made them blind. Sherlock didn't want to be blinded. He didn't want feelings to confuse and distract him in a case.

"AH! Stupid, stupid!" Sherlock suddenly hit a realization, which made him look much lighter at the case. John didn't know, of course. He'd seen it if John knew. He'd been all blushed, trying to hide it. Hell, he would might even try to talk to Sherlock about it, because that's how John is. Poor John. Sherlock shook his head. He wanted so bad to believe Sherlock had feelings.

After John had travelled back and forth in the slightly small apartment for four hours straight, not knowing whether to stay in or go and look for Sherlock, the door opened and Sherlock came in. He didn't greet or anything, he just sat down in the sofa with his own laptop, this time. John stood there, speechless and with his mouth open. He couldn't for his bare life believe that Sherlock could be so extremely egocentric, and so utterly rude. John didn't know where to start, so he just sat down, almost as in shock. It took him some time to realize his mouth was open, but he quickly closed it, as he tried to find something to say.

"And, uhm, where have you been?" John said, harshly.

"Out." Sherlock said it completely empty for any kind of emotions. He just said the word, as they were simple letters put together, as they were, of course. John used all his strength to not start yelling and throwing stuff again.

"Ehm, do you remember our little settlement about leaving notes when we go out?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I." It wasn't a question; more an ending to the argument, but John still chose to answer it.

"Well, I don't know. You didn't leave one this morning." Sherlock didn't answer. He didn't even look up from his book.

"LOOK AT ME!" John gave up on trying to stay calm. He's patience with Sherlock had been very short the last weeks, despite what he'd figured, or maybe because. Apparently Sherlock understood that John'd had enough, and he put the laptop away, looking fully at John. John immediately felt unease, needing to look away, but kept his eyes at Sherlock's beautiful grey.

"You were worried about me." Sherlock stated a fact.

"Oh, you don't think so?" John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Obviously. You haven't been outside. You are tired, apparently you have been wandering. I didn't leave a note, and you texted me to ask where I was."

John was shocked, as he almost always was when Sherlock opened his mouth. He was so ignorant for being human. He understood so much about almost everything, and not a shit about social antennas. As he thought that, he realized that wasn't true. He was good at faking being the nicest in the world, if he wanted something. Maybe he just didn't care. John felt a hard punch in the stomach with this possible realization, and felt the urge to get away from Sherlock, as far away and as fast as he could. Somehow, Sherlock looked a bit puzzled.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I know all that?"

"No!" John snapped.

"I'm not interested in hearing you brag and brief with how good you are at deducing. Please, take a moment and deduce what kind of mood I'm in, and how angry I'm with you right now." John got up on his feet, when Sherlock took his hands.

"I'm sorry, John." John froze in a very uncomfortable position, somewhere between getting up and sitting down. He was shocked out of his mind for the third time this day. Sherlock also seemed surprised over what he'd done, but any expression at all left Sherlock´s face in seconds. John didn't know what do say, and neither did apparently Sherlock. Sherlock took his hand back, looking down.

John looked at Sherlock and Sherlock could see he was surprised. Sherlock took his hand back, cursing himself for doing something so human. He hated saying sorry, but John was different. He'd once opened up for him and told him he was his only friend, and that made him a bit uneasy around him, knowing John had that kind of power over him. John stood for a second, got up, and left. Sherlock felt a small punch of something, something he didn't quite catch what was, but it wasn't a good feeling. God, he hated feelings. Maybe the answer would be to move, get away from the source that caused all these feelings.

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><p><em>Yes, that was second chapter. Please, tell me what you think, good or bad. I also really need your opinion on whether I shall keep it like this, or put a bigger space between each line. Is it better if the dialogues had a 1.5 line space on each side?<em>

_I need it to keep going. And of course, thanks to all who reads, alert, subscribes and reviews! _


	3. I don't care

_Third chapter, people! I__'ll try even harder to get more space, this time. It's horribly hard and boring to read when it's so little space between the lines as it has been so far._

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><p>No. Sherlock felt angry, but he couldn't deny the little feeling in him who told him that it would hurt way more not being with John than cope with these feelings. He shrugged.<p>

He despite that word, and everything it meant. God, this was such a bloody mess.

He hadn't signed up for this, he'd signed up for a flat mate. Instead, he got a best friend, which wasn't so bad, but the feelings that came along with it were. Suddenly he cared, was worried, and found himself willing to do a lot for John´s sake. He'd even try to be more human, by following John´s social guidelines. Almost in rage, he pulled out his gun and shot the wall. Repeatedly. He shot at the same place, making a circle, shooting until he had to reload his gun.

Mrs. Hudson came running up the stairs.

"SHERLOCK? What are you doing to my bloody wall? I told you last time, DON'T. And where have you been? John has been worried out of his mind. Wandering back and forth in the apartment all day, texting Lestrade and anyone who might know where you are. You are a grown-up man, Sherlock, try and act like it."

"I've stopped, as you might see." Sherlock said, coldly. "I don't care if John has been worried, that's not my problem."

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrow. She was used to Sherlock being extremely egocentric, but this topped it. She sat down, calming herself, before she asked.

"What's wrong, Sherlock? You care about John, don't pull that crap with me."

Sherlock looked up at her, and if she didn't know better, she'd though he'd been surprised. But as always, any feelings he might have, left his face before you got to see them.

Sherlock looked up at Mrs. Hudson, a bit surprised. Seemed like he had underestimated her ability to observe things. On the other hand, it didn't mean that he'd have to tell her anything.

He didn't want to say it out loud, and he most certainly not wanted help. He was too proud for that.

"Nothing is wrong, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry if I came off a bit rude to you."

Ah, twice in a day. That was a first, and he wasn't very proud of himself. He was really letting himself down. He really didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do.

Sherlock waved his hand in Mrs. Hudson´s directions, telling her to leave with a wink of his hand.

Mrs. Hudson shook her had, with a sad look on her face. She understood, of course, what was going on. It wasn't hard to see. She was actually surprised Sherlock hadn't got it sooner. But then again, he might didn't want to see it, until it was so obvious that everyone who´s name not was John Watson and Sherlock Holmes could see it.

What was it going to be of those two? Mrs. Hudson had known Sherlock for a long time, and she doubted he'd ever let in for such emotions. Then again, he had changed after he moved in with John. Maybe John would be the one to make Sherlock open up for some deeper feelings.

**I'm bored. Come back. – SH**

No, no, why did he send that? He didn't want John around now, he needed space. He'd read somewhere that space made feelings go away. On some stupid site on '_How to get over your ex' _it had stood that you should go away for a while, get some distance. And here he was, asking John to come to him.

Slightly terrified, he realized he actually wanted John there. He'd been gone for an hour, only, and Sherlock already missed him. It was driving him crazy. DAMN IT!

He took a book up, and threw it out of the window, too get the restlessness, anger and confusion out. The window was closed, and there was a high crashing sound of shattered glass when the book sailed through. A little later he heard a bump as the book hit the ground on the outside.

If Sherlock had been slightly terrified before, he was utterly horrified now. He stood there, frozen, and looked at the splintered window. Something had just made him throw a book through a closed window. He hadn't even thought through if it was open or closed, nor which book it was. He'd also forget to worry about the book hitting someone in the head.

"I HATE FEELINGS." Sherlock didn't yell, but he said it out pretty loud and everyone could hear he meant it. Everyone included John, who had actually decided to return after receiving Sherlock´s text.

_I hate feelings_. Those were Sherlock´s exact words as he was about to enter 221B Baker Street. John had felt a rush of worry, when he suddenly saw a book coming through their closed window, and ran to their door.

He knew Sherlock would never do something that irrationally without reason, so maybe he was struggling with someone. When he heard Sherlock say those words, he realized that Sherlock was alone in the apartment, and that the only danger he was in, was himself.

John wanted to find out what the fuzz was about, though he had a slight idea, and went fast up the stairs, to find Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room, with a scared, confused and lost look John hoped never to see again.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked, silently, scared to do something that would make Sherlock even more upset.

"Well, yes of course."

Sherlock got himself together, at least a little, and went to pick up the pieces of shattered glass.

So John had heard what he'd said. He'd ask soon, Sherlock knew. He was… What was that feeling? Scared. He didn't want this conversation with John at all. He looked from John to the broken window and back at John again. John seemed to be struggling with something.

"What feelings, Sherlock?" John finally asked.

"I don't have feelings," was the short, answer he got. Sherlock looked stiff, but continued to pick up the glass.

"I think you do. I think you have noticed something the last weeks, which has caught you off guard. You know what it is. You just don't want to admit it." John took a deep breath, and uttered the words he was so scared of what reaction they might get.

"You feel something about me, don't you. You know how I feel about you. And it's terrifying you."

Sherlock hissed, trying to keep his face calm and empty for all emotions.

"I don't have feelings. I don't care. I. Don't. Care. Get out. Get out now! I don't care about you. Go away, move out, drop dead. I. DON'T. CARE."

If John hadn't been so utterly hurt by these words that stung and stabbed him in the chest for each syllable, he'd heard that Sherlock was trying to convince himself. He felt like the whole world was falling around him. _Go away, move out, drop dead. I. DON'T. CARE_. The words rang in John´s head, like a CD that had been set on replay for all eternity. Determinate to not let Sherlock see him cry, he stormed out of the apartment without a word.

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><p><em>Oh, I'm so unsure about this chapter. It's late, and I have this feeling it might not be the best idea to write when I'm half asleep. Well, I'll post it anyway, and hear what you guys think. If it's bad, I'll try to write another one.<em>

_I'm trying to make them as in-character as possible, and this is how I imagine Sherlock coping with feelings, if he ever were to get them, and then I mean stronger than the friendship with John. Anyway, tell me what you think, and I'll be forever in your debt! :)_


	4. The Thames

_Here goes nothing! __Or if you may, the fourth chapter._

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><p>Sherlock was left alone, feeling empty. He tried to tell himself that this was the right thing to do, though the better as John would say, and the worse as Sherlock would say, got him.<p>

He thought about what he'd said. _Go away, move out, drop dead. I. DON'T CARE_. Did he actually say that? He'd seen that John got hurt. He ran out so Sherlock wouldn't see him cry. _Go away, move out, drop dead. _

He'd once told John he was his only friend. Even though he didn't want emotions, he wanted his friend. _Go away, move out, drop dead. _He had to go after him.

Sherlock got his coat and went out. Now, where would John go? _Go away, move out, drop dead. Drop dead. _Sherlock started running, feeling that this was important.

John ran. He ran until he was out of breath, and his heart was pounding outside his body. He felt cold, dead. A quick look around told him he was on a bridge. Under him float the Thames as nothing had happened.

As John´s heart hadn't just got broken. _Go away, move out, drop dead. _Sherlock had said that.

How could he say something like that? He'd thought Sherlock finally opened up for him that time with the hound. He'd said John was his only friend, and John knew how much that cost Sherlock to say. But now… _Drop dead_. Did Sherlock not care, after all this time? He looked down on the water flowing under him, wondering for a short second if he should jump.

"Don't jump." John twirled around, to find Sherlock standing beside him, looking at something far away. He wanted to scream at Sherlock, asking why he'd said those hurtful words, asking if after all this time, after all John'd done for him, he still didn't care. But he couldn't get the words over his lips.

Instead he asked weakly:

"How did you know I was here?" turning back to his originally position.

"It was hardly question." Sherlock said shortly. John turned to leave; he couldn't bear being emotionally stabbed one more time today.

"I always go here when I'm upset." If John hadn't seen Sherlock lips move, he'd never believed those words came from him. They were said so slowly, so open and vulnerable, so… Not Sherlock.

"Don't go, John. I need you to hear this. I want you to understand, for some reason." He wrinkled his nose slightly to the last sentence.

"You know I'm not good at feelings, John. I'm not used to having to deal with them, they disturb my work. Up until now, this has been easy for me, I don't care about the people around me, and I've kept the feelings on a good distance. But then you came around, and suddenly there was someone who coped with me, even though I'm never anything but an ass. When I said to you that I don't have friends, I meant it. I also meant the part where I said I only had one, and that's you.

After sometime, I realized that I could live with that. That as long as it was just friendship, and just you, maybe caring wasn't a disadvantage. But then you changed. I saw it, probably long before you even realized it yourself, and I couldn't handle that. I can't handle your feelings, and I certainly can't handle mine. I'm terribly sorry for what I said to you, John, I didn't mean it. Feelings scare me, John. It's the only thing, except that hound, and I was drugged that time, that has ever scared me. Telling you all this, makes me vulnerable. Letting someone in isn't something I do."

John couldn't believe Sherlock had said all that. It wasn't like him at all, and he'd never heard Sherlock say so much about something that wasn't a case. He'd never heard him talk about his emotions, his feelings, or anything personal at all.

John understood how much this had taken him, so he did the only thing he could imagine would be right to do.

He took a few steps closer to Sherlock, and kissed him. Sherlock´s lips were soft and warm. He didn't move them for a time, until he'd seen how John did it. This is his first kiss, John thought. First time in his life, he's unsure about something.

Sherlock pulled away. He looked at John with a puzzled gaze, before he got himself together, getting back his confident, hard look.

Sherlock had gotten his usual look back, but inside, he felt a lot of things. He had all these feelings, and he wanted to run away, tear the emotions out of him, stump on them and throw them out from the bridge to never have to deal with them again. It's been so simple, so much simpler when they'd been friends, and only friends. He didn't know what to do, so he deduced.

"That was your first kiss, wasn't it?" John asked, unsure on where to go from here.

"Obviously. Considering the fact that I didn't join in before after some time, and that my lips were unsure makes that the only explanation." Sherlock looked away, and talked in the voice he usually had when he deduced things.

John didn't know what to say. He knew that this was too much for Sherlock, and that he shouldn't push it, but there had been a little hope inside him that the kiss would change everything, and they would live happily ever after.

Sherlock´s words got him out of his thinking.

"I'll go back, now. Come home when you feel for it."

Sherlock left John with his mouth slightly open. He knew it was wrong to leave him like that, but Sherlock needed some time away to think.

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><p><em>I think this is the chapter I like the least. It's kind of out of character for Sherlock, I feel, but this has to happen for the rest of the story´s sake. I also know Sherlock shift from emotions to emotions in a second, but that's him. He's not taking this very well. Please review and tell me what you think! :)<em>


	5. Taleteller?

_Fifth chapter, this is going fast__. The fanfic I've finished took me two years. Well well, I guess I just need something to fill up the space until the third series of Sherlock comes out._

_Still, apologize in advance for any spellings or grammar mistakes._

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><p>John watched Sherlock as he walked fast away. He didn't look back, but John didn't expect him to, either. John let his tongue gently lick over the lips that had just kissed Sherlock Holmes.<p>

He could still taste Sherlock´s lips, still feel them against him, and it made him warm all over. Where should they go from here? Sherlock would need time to cope with this, he knew. He had to get used to the idea of actually feel something strong for another person. So John would give him time. He stood for a little longer, before he went to buy milk. He had a feeling they would be drinking a lot of tea in the coming days. John would, at least.

Sherlock felt warm. His whole body was tensed in a relaxed way, he couldn't quite figure it out, but it felt good. The warmth had spread when John kissed him. Him, Sherlock Holmes, had kissed another person. Not anyone, either, his flat mate and best friend, John Watson.

"I don't do humanity," Sherlock snapped to himself, but couldn't shake the good feeling the kiss had given him. He went faster, and found himself at home quicker than he'd expected.

_I bloody love that jerk_, John thought to himself, as he stood in the queue at the grocery store. He was a bit nervous he didn't have enough money to pay for all the food, and he didn't want another row with the chip and pin machine. _I wish I had someone to talk about this with_. Even though he hadn't thought he would enough, the paying went fine.

John went out of the store with milk for the next week, and he dialed a number. Usually, he wouldn't have wanted help, but this was over his head. He figured he'd have to talk to someone with a bit experience with Sherlock on that plan.

"Molly? Hi, it's John."

Sherlock looked around the apartment, almost desperate. He couldn't find his nicotine patches, and Mrs. Hudson had taken his scull. "JOHN! Where are my nicotine patches?" He asked, knowing John wasn't in the room.

He hadn't come back yet, and Sherlock was starting to worry. Moriarty was dead, but he knew there were still people out there, wanting to hurt him. He called John, but got right to voice mail. Was John still mad at him? Or had it actually happened something to him?

Sherlock spun around, grabbed his coat and his scarf, and almost run down Mrs. Hudson in the hallway. She looked startled, but Sherlock hadn't time to say sorry. Not that he usually did, either.

Molly just stared at John when he was done telling about the day´s happenings. She wanted to say _Hah! I Knew it_! but she was also utterly jealous. Sherlock clearly had feelings for John, but whether he was going to commit to them, was a whole other case.

After thinking it through a couple of times, she finally decided what to say. John sat nervous, and she imagined it'd taken him a lot to come here, and even more to admit his feelings to himself. _They had kissed_.

"Ehm, Sherlock clearly has feelings for you, John. But it's Sherlock. I don't know how much you can expect from him. He doesn't take feelings like other peoples does."

John looked like she'd said just what he'd thought. Molly shook her head. "I must say, I'm a bit jealous, kind of." She murmured the words, guilty. "But on the other hand, I'm happy for you, and I knew you guys would be perfect for each other."

John patted her back, sympathizing. "Yeah, but it's Sherlock. As we both know, no one can predict what he will say or do, and never imagine how he thinks."

At that moment, Sherlock came storming in the door. "What the bloody hell is going on here?" Molly jumped up from the chair she had been sitting in, leaving John´s hand to hang in the air. He took it quickly back. "Uhm, Sherlock, it's not what you think," John stuttered. Sherlock took a deep breath, but it didn't help much. "Do you know I've been out looking for you for ages? I've been everywhere, until I finally went here to check if you'd texted Molly. I've called you a hundred times, because even if Moriarty is dead, people still might like to get me out of the way."

John stood open-mouthed, as did Molly.

"You did that?"

"Well, of course I did. It's obvious. Look at me." John looked, or observed, Sherlock. His hair looked messy, his clothes was hanging without any plan, like they'd been out in strong wind.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock… I got out get milk, and then I just stopped by Molly to, ehm, talk about things."

Sherlock frowned, with an angry expression on his face. Then, it got wiped off, and Sherlock was his genuine, usual self, if though a little colder.

"I see." He turned on his heel, and went out of the room. His coat flickered behind him as the door shut with a bang, which told Molly and John that he was more upset than he seemed to be.

They shared a look; a look that said _this is bad_. "I got to," John said, wavering his hand to where Sherlock no longer was. Molly just nodded, and John ran after Sherlock.

"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" The wind was strong, so John yelled down the street. Multiple people turned around to see what the fuzz was all about, but the black coat far in front of him did not.

"SHERLOOCK! SHERLOCK!" Sherlock stopped. He didn't turn around, but waited impatiently while John ran up to him.

"Ihtss, ihhts, not-t what you thi-think," John tried to talk while getting his breath back.

"Oh, so you didn't just tell Molly what I said to you? You didn't just tell somebody else something I said to you in confidence, which I counted on you not telling anyone? You did not just tell MOLLY intimate, private thing about me, about us, that isn't her case at all?" Sherlock raised his voice while speaking, but not so much that he as yelling. If you listened very closely, you could hear hurt under the cold, stabbing hardness.

John stood patronized. He didn't even think about that part. He'd thought Sherlock was jealous; it had never occurred to him that John'd just told somebody else something Sherlock almost didn't dare to tell himself.

"Oh, dear God, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't even think about, - Ehm, I'm just so sorry. I didn't mean it, I mean, I was so confused…" Sherlock had turned away and started walking again. John tried to keep up with him, stuttering apologizes constantly.

"Please, Sherlock. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you." They stood in front of the door with the 221B sign on.

"I'll think about it," was Sherlock´s short answer, but John took what he got.

It didn't take Sherlock too long to think about it though. He sat in the sofa, thinking if it was worth the try. Usually, he didn't trust in other people's theories, but this was a point he had no experiences what so ever, and the logical facts didn't really fit in. Sherlock took a deep breath, put his laptop on the table, smirked of the sight of the long rift and walked up to John´s bedroom.

"John?" Sherlock knocked on the locked door. John said come in, after some seconds and some rumbling. Sherlock opened the door gently, and caught a glimpse of John´s muscular chest before it was hidden under a worn-out, grey t-shirt.

"I think I know how you can make it up to me…" Sherlock said, walking in and closing the door behind him.

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><p><em>Okay, people! That was the fifth chapter, pleasepleaseplease tell me what you think! I promise the next chapter will be longer. Warn me if I by some accident should fall out of my story. You guys who read this mean so much to me :)<em>


	6. Shag it away

_Sixth chapter, sorry for the delay. I had an interview and some stuff, so __my mind and I have been busy. I wasn't so sure on how graphic I should be, and I figured I didn't just want to write: They did it. So, it gets a bit graphic here, don't like it, skip it :)_

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><p>John had to pinch himself when Sherlock closed the door and started unbutton his shirt. Was this really happening? Did the great Sherlock Holmes stand in his room, undressing himself? After some buttons, Sherlock got impatient, interrupted John´s admiring, surprised gaze and dragged John into him, kissing him hungrily.<p>

_For somebody who hasn't kissed anyone before, he's extremely good_, John thought, as he gently licked Sherlock´s upper lip with his tongue. John felt Sherlock shiver, and he couldn't help a moan escaping from his lips. He frowned. What if Sherlock got scared, and didn't want to go any further? Though, Sherlock made it very clear what he wanted when he pulled in John´s shirt.

Sherlock dragged in John´s shirt, and when he got it off, he just stared for a moment. His brain was working fast, taking in everything that happened. The atmosphere, the room, John´s muscular chest. He had blond hair on his chest, fairly visible. Sherlock felt warm all over, and all he wanted was to have John, now.

He tried to stop to think for two seconds_. This couldn't be right. This was supposed to help, right?_ But when John came close to him again, putting his hands on Sherlock´s torso while dragging him into a new, heated kiss, Sherlock didn't care, and for once gave himself into something he couldn't quite control.

They got all their clothes off, much faster than John had expected, and he should be confused, but told himself to take that thought later. This wasn't something he was going to question, especially since he really wanted it, and it was incredible fragile.

When John was done undressing Sherlock, he stepped back, and took in the whole beauty who was Sherlock Holmes. He looked down on the rather big feet, up his legs, how thin his thighs was, how large his half-erected cock was. Sherlock's hips were very visible, as were his ribs. John saw now better than ever that Sherlock needed to eat. He moved his eyes to finally meet Sherlock´s beautiful grey, and he gazed into them for a while.

"You are so beautiful, you know that?" John whispered, as he pulled Sherlock into him as tight as he could. The kiss got deeper, and John moved his hand down to Sherlock´s cock, taking it in a firm grip. Sherlock squirmed slightly, but didn't pull away. Sherlock rubbed himself hard to John, and John took his hand away with a moan, causing Sherlock to gasp and flinch a little.

They stood for a while, kissing and rubbing against each other, moaning. John felt so warm, and Sherlock´s skin was so soft, like silk. He could touch it all day. He let his hand follow Sherlock´s spine, and Sherlock shivered by the gentle touch. Sherlock pushed John down in to the bed, making himself lie on the top. Sherlock kissed John´s collarbone, and licked it, first gently then rough. He continued and kissed him all the way down to the thin stripe of hair. John was so aroused, he moaned and everything went black when Sherlock took him in his mouth. He felt like he was living an American cliché.

Sherlock woke up in someone else´s bed. He felt heaviness on his chest, and looked down to find John´s head resting there. He frowned. Not so much by the fact that John laid there, as the fact that it felt nice. Had he played his cards to good? He knew he was a good actor, and he'd done a really good job yesterday. Sherlock had been a bit nervous, considering this was something he'd never done before, but he read about it on the Internet, and watched some of John´s movies.

He was happy, he'd made it. It wasn't a problem anymore. He didn't care anymore. Though, his body had betrayed him yesterday. He really had wanted John. His body had shown him that, by getting so aroused and willing. No, Sherlock put those feelings away. He didn't have them now. Sherlock said it to himself a couple of times, ignoring the warm feeling he got when he looked down on John´s head He got up slowly, trying not to wake John. He crabbed his clothes and disappeared out of the room.

John woke up, stretching his arms and legs and turned. He wondered why he felt so good, and it all came back to him when he smelled Sherlock´s lovely scent on his sheets. Pictures flashed for his eyes, Sherlock coming in the door, kissing, Sherlock´s body, Sherlock´s touch on his hot skin, Sherlock´s body. He got dressed, and went down to make breakfast. He looked around, but couldn't see Sherlock anywhere. The only thing that caught John´s attention was his laptop standing half-closed on the table. Maybe Sherlock had gotten a case? He went over to it, and opened it.

The sight that hit him, made his heart fall down in his stomach, and left a pounding hole. His whole body frowned at the sight of the page, "_**How to get over your ex**_". The name screamed at him in dark blue on a yellow background. The main article was called _Shag it away_. John wanted nothing more than to close the laptop, walk away and pretend he hadn't seen it, pretend it was a coincidence, but he was frozen. In the article it stood step by step how to shag your ex in order to get over him/her.

John sat down, closing the laptop. He sat there, looking straight in front of him, trying not to let any pain get to him at all. Sherlock had shagged him just to get over him. He didn't want any relationship at all; he wanted the feelings to go away. If John knew Sherlock right, he'd probably convinced himself it worked, too.

John felt so stupid. He should have known. Sherlock wasn't one for feelings, and when he got them, he always put them away. John knew Sherlock had feelings, he'd seen them in a brief moment in Baskervilles, and when they kissed on the bridge. He didn't know how to tackle them, so he put them away.

Just then, Sherlock came in the door. He came with two grocery bags, and John just stared, unable to say something. Sherlock never bought milk, or anything for that matter.

"We were out of milk," Sherlock said, indifferent, when he saw John´s surprised gaze. He sat the bags on the kitchen table and started unpacking. When John didn't say something, he turned around and a quick look around the room told him what'd happened.

"Stupid, stupid!" He slammed his hand in the table. He'd forgotten to go out of the page.

John heard Sherlock mumbling, even though he didn't do it very loud. He suddenly fell out of his astonishment, remembering the website and the whole happening yesterday. He rose from where he sat, went over to Sherlock, and he was angry and hurt.

"_Shag it away_? Did you shag me just to loose your feelings over me?" It was hard to get the words out, saying them out loud made them real, and John didn't know whether he was more angry or torn apart. Sherlock didn't look at him when he answered in his usual, empty-of-all-feelings voice.

"Yes, obviously."

"That's not obviously! You told me yesterday you had feelings for me! THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE WITH FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER DO! How can you even do that to me, I can't- No, you know what? Forget it. I shouldn't be surprised. I'll be living with Molly for a while." John grabbed his jacket, and was out of the flat before Sherlock was able to say anything. He stood, staring after John for a while. He knew what he'd done was wrong, hurtful and bad, but he said to himself it needed to be done. It was for the best.

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><p><em>Ah, that was sixth, people. I'm very unsure about this chapter, I think Sherlock really got lost there for a moment. Though, it's not so weird if it's out of character, for Sherlock to have sex with someone at all, or John to have sex with Sherlock, is pretty much out of character, don't you think? Please, tell me how it went. Too much, too little? I can make it more graphic, if that would improve the text. Very unsure, go easy on me. If it's horrible, tell me nicely and I'll try rewriting :)<em>


	7. Drink it away

_It's actually getting close __to the ending, I think. Maybe two, three more chapters. Didn't plan on this story being very long, it's way too easy to fall off when it is. Anyways, here's the seventh chapter._

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><p>Molly opened her door to find a wet John Watson with a wild, sad, hurt look in his eyes, which were an odd contrast to the lovely sunshine and warm weather. She looked at him, and immediately understood what had happened. Molly quickly pulled him in to a warm embrace, whispering that it would be okay. As John fought his tears, and managed to keep them away, she with a sad, compassionate voice:<p>

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so, so, sorry."

A while later, John sat in Molly´s black sofa, staring empty in front of him, not saying a word. He didn't want to talk about it, and Molly understood that she shouldn't be nagging. She just gently put a teacup in front of him, and sat down in the chair opposite him. So that John would have some privacy, but still know she was there if he needed her or wanted to talk, she picked up a magazine. It was rather boring, and Molly was very curious and concerned over what could have happened between Sherlock and John that's made John so hurt, and so out of control. He was always so strong, and even though he still hadn't shed a tear, Molly could easily see he really was struggling.

"Good tea," John said finally, after Molly had read the same magazine thrice. His voice was empty, and she ached just hearing it. She really wished she could make it better somehow. He didn't look at her, just stared down in the now empty cup.

"John… If you want to talk about it…" Molly started, not sure how to say it, or what to say for that matter. John smiled a fake smile, a bitter one at that.

"What is there to talk about. The person I," John swallowed, "love, who has feelings for me, shagged me to get rid of them, and claims they're now all gone." John's tone was even bitterer than his smile.

Molly gaped. She'd thought a lot of things, but none of them came near to what John'd just said. She couldn't believe Sherlock would do something like that, not to John, whom he always cared about and treated with care. Neither could she believe that Sherlock and John had shagged. She could still feel the little, sneaky feeling of jealousy, and got immediately angry with herself. Would she want to end up like John? Heart-broken and on a friend´s sofa?

"Could I stay here for a while?" John asked, with a so vulnerable voice, Molly just wanted to cry. She was not used to see funny, smiling, positive John this way, she'd never imagined he could turn into something so little, so hurt and so vulnerable, under the thin surface anyone would see if they looked a little.

"Of course. Stay as long as you want. I'll go make the bed in the guest room." Molly got up and went down the stairs.

John looked after her. He could see the pity in her eyes, and wanted to feel angry about it, but he didn't feel a thing. He felt empty, dried for all feelings. After he'd put himself together, promising himself he wouldn't cry, all the sadness and hurt had gone away, leaving him empty and cold. John knew he could easily get out the hurt again, but he liked the emptiness better. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to bring those feelings to the surface again. He was angry, but first of all he was utterly heart-broken.

He should've known. From the first day they met, he'd seen that Sherlock would wound up hurting him in some way, but he'd still joined along. Had he known already then, how he felt about Sherlock? Did his subconscious see already what the friendship would turn out to be?

John didn't want to think about it. He went into the kitchen, not really noticing what he did. He opened some cabinets, not really knowing what he was looking for. In the third cabinet, he found it: an unopened bottle of pure sprite. He started to pour himself a glass, but ended up drinking directly from the bottle. It didn't take to long time before the bottle was empty, and a warm, numb feeling started to spread inside him. He didn't think about Sherlock, in fact, he didn't think about anything. He was just floating around on a sky of alcohol, not wanting to come back.

He went back to the living room, stumbling over some chairs on his way, and dumped down in the sofa. Lying on his stomach, far away, not really sleeping and not really passed out, he laid there. And that's how Molly found him ten minutes later.

When John came back to consciousness, he laid in a white room, on a white bed with white sheets. The strong smell of sterile hit him at once, and he understood he was in a hospital. Why? And then it all came back to him, like a hit by a sledgehammer. What Sherlock had done. What he'd said. That he'd gone to Molly´s and drunken a whole bottle of sprite. Had he been pumped? Last thing he remembered was falling in to Molly´s sofa.

Next to the bed, it was an empty chair. John felt a sting when he didn't see Sherlock sitting there. He always was, every time John was in the hospital, which frankly, he'd been much more than he'd ever thought he'd be after he moved in with Sherlock. How long had he been unconscious? There was a knock on the door, and John answered:

"Come in." He got disappointed when he saw it was Molly, because he'd wished it were Sherlock of course. Had he heard what had happened? If he had, why wasn't he here? Did he think John was weak, now?

Molly sat down in the chair next to the bed. John wanted to scream at her, saying that was Sherlock´s chair, but knew it was pointless.

"How are you feeling?" Molly asked, warmly. John didn't answer. He didn't want to, he was tired and all he wanted was Sherlock.

"He was here, you know. When you were unconscious. He paced back and forth for hours, with a wild look on his face. He was begging you to survive, John, he didn't leave your side. I've never seen Sherlock so out of control. He was dragging himself in his hair, saying it was his entire fault. It wasn't before the doctors could confirm 100 percent that you would be fine, that he calmed down."

This caught John´s attention, and he couldn't help his heart from pounding a little bit harder. He tried not to get his hopes up, but maybe it was possible for them after all.

"Where is he now?" John tried to sound indifferent, but failed completely. Molly looked at him with pity, and John felt his heart fall down into his stomach again.

"He left right before you woke up. He didn't say a word. I'm sorry, John."

John waved his hand to say it didn't matter. He laid his head back down on the pillow, trying again not to cry. Molly looked away, both because she wanted to give him some privacy, and because she couldn't bear to see him this way. A single tear left her eye, as John turned away from her. She could only imagine the kind of pain he was feeling now.

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><p><em>That's the seventh. John might be a little out, there, but I imagine him being like that in my head. As always, reviews make me happy! I know this was a bit short, and I'm sorry. Don't think it will be more than one or two more chapters; I'll se a bit how I feel, and what you guys think :)<em>


	8. Bullet

_Chapter eight. This might be the last. Sad, but I'm also kinda glad I've finished it._

_I was actually planning on waiting a long time before posting this, but I figured that it was wrong, having unposted chapters on my PC. So, here it goes. This fic´s last chapter. _

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><p>Sherlock sat in his flat by himself. It was empty without John, but all his things were still there. He hadn't returned, and Sherlock hadn't talked to him since the he found out about the website. Even though he'd seen what it'd done to John, Sherlock was surer than ever that he'd done the right thing.<p>

He couldn't get over how out of control he'd been while John was unconscious, how it had controlled his mind completely, the fright and scare over maybe loosing his best friend and flat mate. He'd said so much stupid around, worried when it wasn't anything to worry about, and all because he had feelings for John. Sherlock had realized then and there that he couldn't have feelings. They interfered with his life, and he got unfocused and distracted from work, from seeing the obvious. That's why he had left.

It was hard, and it tore him apart, but Sherlock told himself the feelings would go away after a while.

"It's better this way." He said to himself, for God knows how many times that day.

After John got out of the hospital, Sherlock had started following him around, just to make sure he was safe. Not when he was with Molly, of course, he knew she took care of him, but he watched and made sure to be around as soon as John left the house.

Sherlock checked his clock, figuring John soon would go out for the walk he'd taken every day that week. He rose from the sofa, put his scarf on and left in a hurry. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, because it didn't help at all getting over him, but Sherlock knew he could never live with himself if something happened to John.

He was outside Molly´s apartment just in time to see John leaving. He looked ravaged, tired and unfocused. Sherlock ached by watching how John was now, just like Molly had done. A little voice inside Sherlock´s head said sneaky:

"_Are you sure you are doing the right thing? How can you live with yourself, look at the man, he's a mess." _

Sherlock figured it must be his conscience talking. Weird, because he didn't think he had one. Though, everything was different when it came to John. Sherlock felt warm all over just looking at him. He could still remember the kiss, how John´s body had felt against his, how gentle and understanding he'd been. It was the first time Sherlock ever did that, and John was so nice to him, because he loved him.

"_That's why I'm doing this. Because I, well, this is for his own good. I would just wound up hurting him anyway, best he gets the idea away from the start. Then we can go back to being friends and colleagues again"_, Sherlock told himself, choosing to ignore the voice in the back of his head saying:

"_That won't happen and you know it"_.

Because Sherlock was busy talking to himself, he didn't realize before after some time that John hadn't taken his usual round. He'd gone in to one of the backstreets, a street everyone who knew this part of London would stay away from. Sherlock wanted to yell at him, tell him that he shouldn't go in there, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he followed John into the backstreet, keeping a good distance and looking around every other second.

It didn't seem like John realized where he went, he was lost in something only John knew what was. He didn't care for anything that happened around him, and didn't notice that he almost went right in to a gang. He gazed up, looking confused.

"I'm sorry," he said, when he almost bumped in to one of them. Sherlock bit his lips from keeping himself from screaming. He was really scared now, scared of what would happen to John. These guys weren't very nice, mildly said.

One of the bigger guys, sitting on a motorcycle, bent down against John and asked threatning:

"What are you doing here?" John still looked confused, and met the bigger guy´s hazel eyes with an excusing look.

"I'm sorry, I was in my own thougths," John said, turning around. Sherlock shook his head, again wanting to scream, but this time he didn't because that would cause much more trouble.

"We don't like people who sneak around here. What are you, a nark-police?" John just stared, like the words didn't registrar. He turned around again, wanting to leave. He shouldn't have done that, because one of the guys pulled a gun out and aimed for John´s heart.

"We don't want people here," he snared, and pulled the trigger. At the same moment, Sherlock jumped up from his hiding place, and lucky for him, only John saw him. That's why John moved so quickly to the left, that the bullet didn't hit him in the heart, but in the shoulder. The same shoulder he got shot in while working in Afghanistan. After that, everything got muddy for John. He remembered vaguely the guys driving away, and Sherlock. Sherlock kissing his lips, Sherlock trying to suck the bullet out. Sherlock staying with him in the car to the hospital, whispering in his ear that he would be fine.

He found himself waking up in a hospital bed for second time that very week. Only difference this time from the other one was that Sherlock really was sitting in the chair next to the bed. He held John´s hand tight, observing his every move and breath.

"See, I told you would be fine," Sherlock smiled, a little. John looked up to meet his eyes, but Sherlock wouldn't. He just stared down at John´s hand in his, trying to decide something, or figuring what to say, maybe. Anyway, John had a nagging feeling he wouldn't like it.

"Sherlock," he began. "I've had the worst week of my life. Please don't make it any worse."

Sherlock looked devastated up to meet John´s eyes. He hated with every fiber what he was about to say.

"John, I'm sorry. I, I, love you, but we can't be together. I can't handle this. I can't. I want you to be happy, and you won't be that with me as a boyfriend. I don't do feelings. I've always managed to keep myself distant, divorce myself from feelings. I remember why, and I will keep on doing it."

John opened his mouth to say that he didn't care, that the only way he would ever be happy was if he was with Sherlock, but Sherlock held a hand up, stopping John from saying all those words.

"Don't argue with me, John. My decision is made. I will not change my mind. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you."

Sherlock tried to look like the usual him, tried to wipe every little emotion away from his face, but didn't quite manage. John could see that the words Sherlock uttered killed him, but he couldn't imagine they hurt as much for Sherlock as they did to him.

John felt like his heart had been slowly cut out with a dinner knife, stabbed on, poked with needles, set on fire, tramped on, got eaten a bit and then put carelessly back, not putting it quite right in. He hadn't thought it could get any worse, but it certainly could. Sherlock was still holding his hand, and even though John wanted to scream at Sherlock, saying that if he didn't want him, he should keep his bloody hands to himself, but he couldn't.

"Okay." John said, with a voice so vulnerable and hurt Sherlock flinched.

"I'll have my things packed same day I come home from the hospital." He looked down, before looking up at Sherlock. Sherlock looked shocked and horrified.

"You can't move! You have to stay. We are colleagues. No other would bear with me." John smiled a little, tiny smile.

"Promise me you'll stay, John. Promise me." Sherlock said the word with so much intensity, it whipped John off balance, and all he could do was nod. Sherlock looked him right in the eye and said:

"Tell me. Say you promise me."

"I promise you, Sherlock." Sherlock bent over and did something John'd never thought Sherlock would do. He hugged him. John was sure that Sherlock had done it with good intentions, but the feeling of Sherlock´s skin against his reminded him of all the things he wanted to forget, and he had to bite his lips to not start to cry. He tried to get out of Sherlock´s firm grip, but couldn't. They sat like this for a long time, until the nurse came and kicked a very angry Sherlock out.

"Mr. Watson needs rest! He'll be out tomorrow." She said, and hushed Sherlock out. Normally, he would have made a scene, deduce something about her that's made her say he could stay, but he was tired and couldn't make himself to do it. Instead, he went home, and started to prepare for John´s coming home. He fell asleep after half an hour, in the sofa with his legs curled up against his chest.

The next morning, Sherlock woke early, as always, planning something he knew would cheer John up. He went out, and headed to the grocery store. He figured he could buy a cake, one of those who John liked so much, and maybe get some eggs and bacon at the same time. He found some funny lights, and even though he found it pretty stupid, he was sure John would appreciate it. He bought milk, more tea, sugar and bread.

Right before he was going to pay, he stopped by some cards. Some of them had congratulations on them, while some had get well soon, on them. Sherlock picked one of the "get well soon"-cards, one with a sheep with a scarf and a big smile, which kind of reminded him of John. Inside, he wrote:

_John_

_Love you_

_S_

He paid for all the stuff, and carried all the heavy bags back to the apartment, looking forward to surprising John like a little kid looks forward to opening presents at Christmas. He was really hoping he could cheer John up, and that he would appreciate all the work Sherlock had put in it.

But, when Sherlock opened the door to the apartment, he immediately knew something was wrong. He looked around, taking a minute to really see what was missing. Then it hit him. _Half of the stuff was gone_. Everything that John owned was gone. He dropped the bags right down, not caring about breaking the eggs, but running as fast as he could in to John´s bedroom, his heart pounding as it fell down in his stomach, heavy as stone. It was empty. The bed was gone, the closets was open and empty, even the pictures on the wall was taken away.

The only thing that was left was a white letter, standing in the window, with _Sherlock_ written in John´s handwriting. Sherlock took two steps and snapped the letter. He looked at it, before tearing it open. Inside it stood with John´s well-known handwriting:

_Dear Sherlock._

_I'm sorry, so sorry for doing this. I know I promised you to not leave, but I can't keep that promise. Right now it's not possible for me to live in the same flat as you, because I love you. Even though if we try, we can't get things back to how they were before, you know that as well as I do. If we ever should be able to stay friends, or get back some of the friendship we had before, I need time on my own. I need to stay away from you, get a change. Maybe fall in love with someone else. No, delete that. It will always be you. I need to sort this out, get it on a distance. I'm not saying this is forever, this is probably only temporary. I'm hoping I can come back to you after some time, coming back as your best friend and colleague, but if that shall happen, you need to leave me alone until I decide I'm ready. It can be six months, or it can be two years. That's why I'm not telling you where I'm staying at the moment. I haven't told anybody, and even though I'm sure you can figure it out, I beg you not to. I can't come back if you don't give me time. _

_Again, I'm so sorry Sherlock. I'm sorry you fell in love with me, and I'm sorry for feeling this way. I wish there were something else I could do, but there ain't. I'm so sorry._

_Love,  
><em>_John._

Sherlock sat down on the floor, looking at the letter. He felt just like John´s bedroom, totally empty. For the first time in his life, a tear fell down from his eyes, and made a water stain on the paper. He curled himself together on the floor, and for once let all his unbearable sorrow out.

In the apartment under him, Mrs. Hudson sat in her sofa, hearing Sherlock's howls of sorrow, and wished she could do something. But she knew there was nothing anyone could do to help.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, that was it. I think. I might write a sequel, if that's something you guys wish. I actually have one planned already, if that should be the case. Please tell me what you think!<em>

_I know it's a bit out of character for Sherlock at the end there, but he's just really trying. I mean, if he can "kill himself" for John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade in the show, he can sure cry over loosing his colleague, flat mate, best friend and only love too, don't you think? _

_I know this story isn't very long, it's not an 16-26-50 or 79 chapters story, but I think that would have made it hard for me to stick to it. Better with good and short than long and bad, agree? _

_Anyways, thanks so much to the ones of you who have reviewed, subscribed to alert or favorite. You guys really mean the world to me :)_

_Oh, yeah, and by the way, I've kind of started a new story. The idea is that anyone who wants, can send me a song in a review or a PM and I'll make a one-shot about John and Sherlock out of it. If it sounds good, send me a song! :)_


	9. New Story

Okay, so I wrote another story. Or, that is, a continue on this one, if you will. If you are not happy with the ending, or want to know what happens next, the story is called Maybe it's worth a try.

I wrote another story and not a sequel, because I kinda like the way this one ended, but I still want them together. So, therefore, there's now another story, and my conscious is clear. Also, I hope that makes all of you who wanted a sequel happy! :D

Here's the link: .net/s/7938894/1/Maybe_its_worth_a_try


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